Cracklin' Rose

Seriously.

Straight up, yo, I'm afraid of dying in traffic. Or in water. Or in a fire. Anything horrific really, and I'm definitely against it. Death in general, does not become me. Which was why this afternoon while traveling at speeds upward of 65 mph, when we ran into a WALL of rain and I suddenly could not see the tail lights that seconds ago were in front of us, I was pretty damn sure that the kids and I were going to that great parking garage in the sky. If not from me rear-ending the car in front of me, then from being plowed into by the 18 wheeler behind us.

Obviously, we didn't die, but my anxiety level had no rest when, while more or less pinned against the highway divide by one very large truck and two 18 wheelers I happened to notice that the trees that lined the highway northbound were practically bent over due to the force of the cell we were in. Cars in front of me were bouncing. It was the one time during our trip home from up north that Dee and Bear quit arguing. Even Rosie woke up from a peaceful nap and stared out the van window with some freakishly wide eyes. They know, I thought. They know we're going to die, and they know that Mommy can't protect them.

There was nowhere I could go. We had no escape route. No way could I get all 3 girls and myself safely across a highway, an exit ramp, a busy intersection and into the nearest building in the van, let alone on foot. How exactly was I supposed to react here? Did I distract them or did I tell them that in few seconds they were going to hear a loud noise and possibly feel some pain, but it wouldn't last very long, and when they woke up they'd be able to have tea with GiGi again? (GiGI, by the way, was their great grandma who died a few years back.) Did I say nothing and let it come as a surprise? Crank Blondie and rock out to French Kissin' in the USA? (Our current Blondie fav.)

I thought about calling J and letting the girls tell him how much they loved him. I wondered if he'd get remarried and when I figured that yes, he would, I got pissed and turned on my blinker. No way in hell was I going to let my husband get married to some skinny, organized, blonde who thought cleaning and exercise were fun. I would drive over that damned semi - if it well... if it killed us... but I would get us off that damned highway. No way was that bitch going to reap the benefits of a childless existence with my husband!

"Mommy?" one of my girls asked. Her voice apprehensive.

"We're fine," I said through gritted teeth. That bastard. He has some damn nerve getting married so soon after our deaths. He'd better not buy her a new mattress when I've been hinting for years that I'd like a new one. "But I need quiet now so I can concentrate." Please God, I prayed, move this bitch of a truck out of my way so I can freakin' get off the interstate and save my marriage... and my kids.

Did I mention there were several bolts of lightning that made contact with things around us? 'cause there were.

St. Christopher, I know you're not officially a saint any longer, but surely you have connections. Get us the hell off this highway. By this time I was shaking and traffic headed north was also at a standstill. I couldn't hear anything but rain and I still could barely see the car in front of me. It was raining that hard. Plus, I had to pee.

Christopher somehow pulled through for us. The semi beside us moved up and there was suddenly an empty path that led to the exit and none of the other cars moved up an inch. We made it safely across and took refuge in some hotel for the duration of the storm. My children and I looked like river rats and the hotel staff took pity on us and brought us towels and tried to soothe our nerves.

I took a minute to call my husband and nearly cried when I heard his voice. I knew he'd make everything better, even from 70 miles away. "Tell your skinny, blonde, slut of a girlfriend that her evil weather plan failed. Despite her best efforts, we're still alive."

"Damn. She'd already picked out the mattress," he said. Then his voice lost its smile. "What's up?"

"Hurricane on 75. Check the weather and tell me we're not going to die. There are no basements where we are."

Lightning crashed (an old mother died), my husband pulled up Weather.com and gave one of those low, impressed whistles. "Damn," he said.

"We're going to die?" I looked for the nearest bathroom and tried to decide which on of the girls I'd sacrifice as there was only 1 of me and 3 of them. No way could I hold on to all three of them. It was a real Sophie's Choice moment. The 8 year old has been giving me attitude non-stop for a year, but she's really the best with Rosie. The 6 year old is by far the most delightful of the three, but she's got a bit of a selfish streak and already gravitates toward the rich, snobby first graders and that's got nothing but trouble written on it 10 years down the road. And then there was sweet, innocent, chubby Rosie... "DECIDE!!!" the nazi soldier ordered. "I... I... I can't..." "Decide or they all die!!! Decide!!!!" And just as I was about to shove one child out into the storm, my husband said, "No, you're not going to die. It's just an impressive storm. Stay put 10 more minutes and then you're good to go."

And no, I'm not going to tell you which one was thisclose to getting the boot.